


Flightless Bird

by Matloc



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Edo Period, Kabuki - Freeform, M/M, but pls enjoy kuroko waterbending, dancer!kuroko, does this count of kuroko worship, haha what am i saying all my akkr fics are kuroko worship, ho boy could this be the most confusing thing i've ever written, lots of space metaphors, tattooist!Akashi, very briefly, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matloc/pseuds/Matloc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to an unwritten story. Akashi and Kuroko both have things they don't want to let go of just yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flightless Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "For the prompt <3 AkaKuro with dancer!Kuroko and tatooist!Akashi. The image I had is that this is set in tokugawa period with magic (?). Ahahaha the bg story is up to you really. Thank you!"
> 
> i’M crying i can’t believe this took me so long to complete sOMEONE SAVE ME FROM ANIMU HELL sorry to keep you waiting kyouka
> 
> also i’M so iffy abt this fic in general i got a writer’s block after writing 1/3rd of it so once i did get my groove back thanks to [ this beautiful song](https://soundcloud.com/emberisland/stay) it turned into tHIS clusterfuck
> 
> so yeah this was probably not what u had in mind at all sO RRY FOR DISAPPOINTING IN ADVANCE but pls enjoy kuroko waterbending for like 5 minutes
> 
> also since u left the bg story up to me i literally gave this fic 0 backstory this is literally just me trying to write smth pretty (and failing probs)

**[Scene: Interlude]**

Contrary to popular—or rather, the elite—opinion, the ukiyo does not quite define Japan’s assimilation of depravity. Society’s more complex than that, Tetsuya often insists, even if its pillars tend to be rigid and are founded on traditions that are right in the process of being uprooted by the first faint glimmers of modernity. Faint, but full of colors that stand out brilliantly when you paint them flush against the backdrop of Edo’s black and white imperial mores.

The colors of change, one Kabuki actor Kuroko Tetsuya wants to show them to the world through his dance.

Or such is Tetsuya’s will, Seijuurou assumes, as he looks on with the rest of the patrons. The audience is always a myriad of faces sculpted from all sorts of backgrounds, and perhaps the one thing that molds such people together is the play. At present, all their gazes are anchored to the stage, a nascent hivemind kept captive by every mesmerizing flutter of Tetsuya’s kimono as he swoops in to steal the show, a recurring spectacle that requires little effort to lure in enamored looks every time.

Swathed in scarlet veins of hibiscus sprouting from under the shimmering obi, stature so small in that heavy kimono it gives a striking image of Tetsuya being consumed by red with that porcelain-powdered skin of his. If gazed at from afar, he looks not much different from an azure-eyed swan covered in blood.

Perhaps that is why Seijuurou stands a fair distance away from the crowd, leaning against the threshold like he’s overseeing more than spectating. He’s seen this one play before, watched this one scene enough times to predict Tetsuya’s every movement, down to the elegant flick of a wrist as the man flutters the fan next to his snowy face. His appearance is meant to deceive, of course, removed from any vestige of masculinity he possessed until he took the stage.

It’s good that Seijuurou is one of the few who have known Tetsuya without his makeup, or the shower of jeweled pins studded like newborn stars in his cerulean hair, or the swan-like grace that comes naturally with the weight of all the glossy layers of his kimono, which leaves no room for any jarring or wasted movement. On stage, he becomes an amalgamation of subtleties, his eyes and the curve of his painted lips doing all the talking.

Even better that Seijuurou is the only one to have touched what’s underneath. To have felt the jut of a collarbone hidden by intricate lapels, the strong edge of a jaw softened with paste and powder, the hard line of muscle along a flat torso mistaken so easily for a petite waist under the obi.

Without his veil of femininity, Tetsuya ends up a lot less noticeable, which is precisely why his muted features are a blank canvas best suited to alter reality in the eyes of others. Illusion, too, is a skill with the way Tetsuya puts it to use, Seijuurou loves to reiterate particularly onto bare skin, along with countless other musings forgotten by morning.

With a glint of mischief in his eyes—ah, they’re at this part now—Tetsuya brings the fan to his face and then arches his neck, teases the audience with white glimpses of skin, like marble peeking through scarlet folds.

And with the ease of someone who’s shared with Tetsuya a lifetime of intimate secrets, Seijuurou lets himself be mesmerized yet again by a man who showed up in his life barely a year ago.

 _Art_ , we proudly name it, centuries later.

**[End scene]**

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**[Act IV, scene i]**

The air of dusk sinks into oak fixtures, draping a quiet chill over Seijuurou’s house. The floor skids like ice against the skin of Tetsuya’s pink knees, though it’s nothing new for someone who has spent a life travelling across galaxies. Some of them were much colder than anything that revolves in the Milky Way.

Some sensations often prove difficult to fully erase from the hollow of your bones, like perhaps the sharp bite of a planet-wide ice age, up to the very roots of your hair. Ice so cold it is forever burnt into your skin.

Other times Tetsuya gets to bask in temperate atmospheres akin to that of the Earth, and that alone makes any frostbitten vestiges of dying planets worth enduring.

When he hears the door sliding open behind him, a sound he’s grown quite familiar with, Tetsuya concedes that there is indeed worth to this planet, though how much of it is encompassed by the existence of the man known as Akashi Seijuurou, he cannot quite tell. Only that, in his humble opinion, nowhere in his memories does he recall his own home planet being as blessed.

“Welcome back, Seijuurou-san.” He greets with an upward tilt of his head towards the entryway, gathering his robes before getting up.

“Come inside, Tetsuya. It’s much too cold for you to be out on the verandah.” Seijuurou slides the shoji doors back shut, indicating Tetsuya to do the same as he steps back onto the tatami-covered floor.

It’s amusing to witness Seijuurou mustering commendable effort trying not to frown at his lover’s state of dress; compared to the thick layers of the other’s kimono, Tetsuya’s a stark contrast looking much more cozy in this weather wearing just his thin green robes.

Seijuurou prepares a cup of tea for them both, though Tetsuya believes he ought to be the one making tea here, as the least he could do to show his gratitude for being allowed to stay here. At the same time, he also knows that people like Seijuurou do not often let others do the tasks they like to stake their own pride on.

As he accepts the cup from Seijuurou, breathing in its rich aroma, Tetsuya can tell why one would consider this a great accomplishment. He cannot picture a different pair of hands brewing something to taste this bittersweet on the tongue while still keeping to its pleasant consistency.

Surely part of the reason, however, comes from the knowledge that Tetsuya has never even felt so intimately anyone else’s hands before. Roving over his skin, tracing invisible designs as if they’re trying to uncover orbits of all the stars of a solar system that could be inscribed into his bones.

As darkness begins to seep into the pink sky, it becomes routine for Tetsuya to find himself under those very hands yet again.

“Will you be drawing on me again?” asks Tetsuya with an upturned head, thin locks of his hair splayed over the futon like blue paint has been spilt. (Which is admittedly nothing new, when he tends to spill a myriad of colors under Seijuurou’s touch, counting from every sound on his lips to the flush his cheeks take at times.)

“No, this time I shall give you a real tattoo.” Seijuurou replies, not missing the way the shorter man perks up at that. Out of all things, Tetsuya has been quite insistent—well, as insistent as someone of his quiet nature could force himself to be—on this alone. While he has no reason in particular to make him want a permanent tattoo on his skin, Seijuurou had decided to construct a reason for him.

And it takes him until now, after almost a year, to fully finish creating it. With this special mix of dyes and with the correct spell imbued in them.

“This liquid is meant to sew itself into your flesh, Tetsuya. It will hurt a little.” Seijuurou warns, but Tetsuya has been waiting for this far too long to lose his nerve now. Getting tattoos is a practice he finds so uniquely human, never has he heard of it on any other planet, by any other name. He’s of the firm mind that getting one himself would help greatly with the understanding of society here, its twists and powerfully visible loopholes unlike anything else he’s ever come across before.

He sighs at the painfully familiar feeling of a hand cradling his back, before it’s replaced by a sharp sting no thicker than the fine bristles of a hair brush, but it manages to steal a hiss from his lips as he feels the dye’s wetness pierce his skin.

Seijuurou does his best to offer comfort by pressing his lips onto the back of a soft shoulder, gently working the dye along the skin. Whispers quiet nothings as he watches it seep into a white canvas, leaving only the finest of black lines running across to intertwine as a pattern begins to slowly blossom on Tetsuya’s back all by itself.

Afterwards, when the work is almost done, Seijuurou doesn’t stop to think about how perhaps he is simultaneously watching something come to an end as well. He certainly shuns the notion that, perhaps, at least for Tetsuya’s sake, it might be a good thing.

He’s never had a problem with letting things go before he met Tetsuya.

 

**[End scene i]**

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**[Act IV, scene ii]**

Another night comes to visit, gently drawing upon them a blanket of stars that are twinkling with secrets Tetsuya likes to share with the redhead every night. They shimmer in the water of a nearby lake, where Seijuurou’s perched on the bank watching his lover’s every movement, how his lithe body moves knee-deep in the water.

It’s hard not to be mesmerized when each flick of his hand causes a splash in still waters, when he raises an arm and once again the water chases the motion; sparkling droplets leap over the dancer’s form, arching a good distance above his head, and through a spectator’s eyes—because that’s the sole title Seijuurou is reduced to when he watches Tetsuya dance, because this is not about love, not quite. Such a word doesn’t truly fit the spell Tetsuya seems to put people under—Seijuurou can see him swing his leg forward, twirling with his grounded foot, underneath an archway made of aqueous crystals looking like they’ve been sewn right into the sky.

Tetsuya kicks up his legs and the archway collapses, but instead of the lake most of the waterdrops fall into his hair, studding pale blue locks until they glimmer under the sky, like there’s a galaxy of liquid fractals hidden amidst the soft strands. Dripping from the tips like pearly teardrops, they shimmer in the moonlight as if they have an inborn light of their own.

He twists his upper body with the elegance of a swan taking flight in slow motion, but if you stare long enough you could tell Tetsuya’s from a much different make. If Seijuurou had the option to pick, he’d consider a kind that could mirror the passion, the gentle fire in his movements. The intensity of a hawk’s gaze, body limber like a crowned eagle, and waves so smooth created only by the glorious wingspan of an albatross, all culminate to a sight one can’t take their eyes off from.

It’s an otherworldly spectacle, watching a glassy set of wings sprout from Tetsuya’s back as he jumps with legs spread wide and spins in a perfect circle. The water around him jets up into whirling pillars, showering the newborn wings, crystallizing around the contours and outlining them with a layer of glistening ice.

As if to make up for his flawless performance, the universe seems to tilt a bit too far with the unfamiliar weight of his wings. He stumbles on the water a little, feet sliding on a viscous surface that smoothens out where it comes into contact.

Everything falls silent, leaving the two lovers alone in the world for a precious moment. Only the glittering sky keeps them company, silently watching Tetsuya as he whirls around to face Seijuurou, who can’t help his amusement play on his face at the way Tetsuya looks at him. Like he’s looking down from a precipice of pure wonder, peering into a dazzling world he’s never fully realized that it was, perhaps, standing right before him all along.

“How do you like your wings, Tetsuya?” Seijuurou asks, although if the expression on Tetsuya’s face is anything to go by, he doesn’t really need an answer. The shorter man reaches a trembling hand behind him, eyes growing wider, lips parting open, but he’s too lost in the feeling to really come up with anything intelligible.

His wings were the last thing he’d expected to get back. And he hasn’t; these new wings are entirely different from what he was born with. They feel lighter, making a clear sound as they twitch. It reminds him of the glasswinged butterflies back on his planet, where he’d see them flutter about in his orchard, sunrays spilling onto sleeping flowerbuds through their near-transparent wings.

He tilts his head back to see the sea-colored edges slice the air as he folds his wings. So thin, yet nothing strikes as fragile about them to Tetsuya who can feel every vibration in the tremble of his bone.

“Seijuurou-san,” he says, fledglings of a tender bliss lacing his voice. “I never thought I could fly again…”

“Then you think too lowly of me.” Seijuurou cuts in, though still keeping a softness to his tongue.

Tetsuya shakes his head with a sigh. “Seijuurou-san knows very well that’s not what I meant.” He chides—and to Seijuurou’s little smile just then, he can only reply with his own. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“No, I believe you already have.” Seijuurou, true to his nature, gives a cryptic response like always.

Though if one were to spot the twinkle in his dual-colored eyes, it’d seem the message has been conveyed quite naturally.

He takes a deep breath, tilts his head some, scarlet fringes brushing across his brow. “I deem them suitable enough to allow you to fly back to your home.” Tetsuya’s warm expression fades with the sudden realization that, indeed, the other man is very correct.

But the very next instant, where somewhere else in the universe a new galaxy is coming to life in tiny, brilliant sparks, he finds his feet still planted firm on Earth, wishing that for once Seijuurou could be wrong.

“You’re free to leave if you want.” Seijuurou starts off after a long pause, for the first time tonight taking in the image of Tetsuya and the sky behind him in its entirety, how his wings glitter under the stars like he could blend in with them completely at any moment, sinking into diamond-studded depths if he walks across this lake far enough, and none would be the wiser. Seijuurou’s brow crinkles a bit, lined with a wistful kind of fondness. “Although I admit I wouldn’t be as eager to watch you leave.”

But he doesn’t outright voice any objection, in the end it is Tetsuya’s decision to make.

Tetsuya’s gaze stays lowered in thought, the cerulean tips of his hair still dripping cold over the back of his neck. The other man surely understands the weight of his thoughts very well, but it doesn’t take long to make a choice at all. He can’t say in exact terms when it happened, but he seems to have made up his mind long ago.

He looks up, straight into the bevy of reds and golds, like a galaxy of a billion wishes pooling in Seijuurou’s eyes, and he couldn’t hide the smile growing on his face if he tried to. “I’m afraid I love Kabuki far too much to leave just yet, Seijuurou-san.”

Seijuurou blinks in honest surprise, and somewhere in this very solar system Tetsuya thinks he can hear a star falling.

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**_[End Act]_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading till the end good on you! (and yes, kuroko’s from sPACE YOOO) honestly idk if anyone will actually like this fic but if any of you rly DO want a backstory then feel free to message me and i’ll do my best to explain _(:3
> 
> P.S.: I made a new personal tumblr **[here](http://sleepinginrlyeh.tumblr.com/)**! this one’s anime-centric so feel free to drop by!


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